My Life as a Dog
by Shadowfax1
Summary: Sam experiences a rather unusual leap.


My Life as a Dog  
by Shadowfax  
Rated PG  
  
This is a continuation of "Animal Instincts," a very short fic in which   
Sam realizes that he has become a four-legged, tail-wagging dog.  
  
Note: I don't remember if animals can see Al, but in my story, they can.  
  
Standard disclaimers apply; the main characters aren't mine; I'm only   
borrowing them so I can have some fun with them.  
  
***************************************************  
  
"Roe roy," woofed Sam.  
  
He looked at the fragment of broken mirror, staring at the long nose   
and perky ears of the image reflected back at him. He was a dog. He   
couldn't believe that he had leaped into a dog! Nothing like this had   
ever happened before. Why was he a dog? How was he going to change   
history? He probed his Swiss-cheese memory for recollections of famous   
dogs - war heroes, search and rescue dogs, dogs belonging to the rich   
and famous - but he couldn't remember any famous dog that looked like   
him.  
  
Who was he, then? Did he have an owner? He sat down and scratched at   
his neck, feeling for a collar that might have an ID tag. No collar.  
  
He sighed. He hoped that Ziggy would be able to identify him and tell   
Al why he was here.  
  
Come to think of it, where *was* Al?  
  
He raised his head to look around him, and made a discovery - a couple of   
them, in fact. His peripheral vision was greatly expanded; he could see   
on both sides of him without even turning his head. On the other hand,   
he had difficulty bringing images into sharp focus, especially for   
objects that were close at hand. Colors were different, too: faded,   
washed out, and with a reddish hue. His surroundings looked like a   
nineteenth century sepia photograph. The few straggles of grass clumped   
near one of the trash cans didn't look green; in fact, they didn't   
appear to have much color at all. And when he looked at the sky (which   
he found that he could do without raising his head), he noticed that   
although it was cloudless and free of pollution, it appeared to be a pale   
indiscriminate color instead of blue.   
  
He noted, however, that although he couldn't distinguish objects very   
well that were up close, he could see the slightest motion. A bird   
fluttered to the ground a block away and Sam caught the movement   
instantly.  
  
He dropped his head and sniffed the ground, which was suddenly rich with   
a myriad of fascinating odors. A cat - no, *three* cats - had walked   
through this alley quite recently, but no dogs - at least not in recent   
history. He would very much like to see another dog, he thought   
wistfully. He experienced a wave of anxiety, brought on by loneliness.   
Suddenly he needed company very badly. Where was Al?  
  
"Al," he said. At least, that's what he tried to say, but it came out   
more like a howl. "Owwwl!"  
  
"Whatsa matter, pooch?" said a man's voice behind him.   
  
Sam whirled at the sound of the familiar voice. Seeing Al standing next   
to a trash can, he tried once again to say his friend's name, but this   
time all he achieved was a whine. He trotted over to Al and sat down in   
front of him. "Al, it's me," he said.   
  
Al was banging on his handheld with the heel of his hand, frowning in   
concentration, but he took the time to look over at Sam briefly and   
mumble a kindly, "nice dog." Then he resumed his assault on the   
handheld, muttering, "Come on, Ziggy, you told me that Sam would be   
here . . . where is he?"  
  
"Here," said Sam.  
  
"Whatsa matter, pal?" Al asked him. "You hungry? You look like you   
could use a good meal." He peered into a nearby trash can. "Nothing   
much in here . . . oh, looks like somebody's left-over macaroni and   
cheese mixed in with spaghetti and . . . I think . . . a pear-pineapple   
Jell-O salad. Too bad you can't understand me - I'd show you the food."  
  
"I can understand you!" said Sam. He ran to the trash can and stood on   
his hind legs, putting his front paws on the trash can while he looked   
into it. Then he returned to Al and sat in front of him, staring as   
hard as he could. "See, I can understand you! It's me, Sam."  
  
"What's all the barking about, pooch?" said Al. He took a closer look   
at Sam, noting his attentive posture. "What are you looking at?" He   
turned and squinted at the street behind him. "Nothing there." He   
looked back at Sam, who was still gazing at him intently. Al shrugged   
and turned his attention back to the computer device. "Sam, where are   
you?" he said, banging his hand against it again. "Ziggy, I'm in the   
alley between Fifth and Fourth. You told me Sam would be here - quiet,   
dog. Hey, pooch, you haven't seen a person around here, have you? I'm   
not sure if he's going to be a man or a woman this time, but - stop   
barking!"  
  
Tired of trying to get Al to recognize him as himself, Sam dropped his   
body to the ground and put his head on his paws. "That's a good dog,"   
said Al. "Ziggy, what do you mean, 'Sam's here?' He's *not* here.   
Of all the times for you to go on the fritz . . . ." he began grumbling   
to himself, attacking the handheld energetically.  
  
Sam rose to his feet and trotted over to the patch of bare ground that   
contained the few straggling clumps of grass. Moving his front paws   
awkwardly, he managed to scratch the letters A L in the dirt. "Come   
over here, Al," he said. "Look."  
  
"Can't you keep quiet, dog?"  
  
"Look. I've written your name in the dirt. Don't you want to see? It's   
me, Sam. Sam! Come over here, Al."  
  
"Where's Sam?"  
  
"Here! I'm over here!" The frustrated Sam cast his mind back to an old   
show he used to watch on TV: Lassie. How had Lassie gotten Timmy's   
attention? He ran towards Al, whining, then back to the patch of bare   
ground, looking over his shoulder at Al.  
  
It worked. Al abandoned his interrogation of Ziggy for a moment and   
followed Sam to where he had scrawled his letters. "Look!" said Sam.   
  
"Have you been digging in the dirt?" said Al with interest. "Nice going,   
dog. Hey, that almost looks like 'A' 'L.' That's my name . . . did   
you know that?" He chuckled then turned back to his computer device.  
  
Sam sighed. Al didn't have a clue. He thought that Sam had scratched   
random marks in the ground that just happened to look like they spelled   
his name. He began to scratch frantically at the dirt.  
  
S A M . I A M - Wait! Al was turning away! "Come on, Al!" he   
said. "It's me, Sam. You have to figure out what I'm supposed to do so   
I can get out of here. I don't like being a dog. I'm hungry and I'm   
lonely and everything smells. And I want to scratch. A lot. When are   
you going to realize that this is me and not just a dog-?"  
  
"Okay, okay," said Al in response to the latest fusillade of barking.   
"What've you got? Is there a bone buried there?"   
  
"As a matter of fact . . . yes," said Sam. "There *is* a bone buried   
near here. A lot of bones and something else, too. But that's not why   
I called you over."  
  
Al bent his head and peered at the latest scratch marks Sam had made.   
"'Sam I am,'" he said with a puzzled frown. His face broke into a smile.   
"Hey, that's a neat trick. Does your owner like Dr. Seuss?"   
  
"Come on, Al!" Sam erupted. "Think! It doesn't say: 'Sam I am.' It   
says: 'Sam. I am Sa-' Oops. I didn't finish writing-"  
  
"Sam!" exclaimed Al. "Is that *you*, Sam??"  
  
"Finally," said Sam.  
  
********************************************  
  
"Is that really you, Sam?" asked Al.  
  
"Yes," said Sam. He scratched the letter "Y" in the dirt.  
  
"Well, I'll be-" Al scratched his head. "This has never happened before,"   
he declared.  
  
"You've got to figure out what's going on," Sam said.  
  
"We have to figure out what's going on," said Al. "Ziggy, why is Sam a   
dog? And why does he look like a dog to me, instead of like himself?   
Is it because he's an animal? What?? There's no need to insult me!   
Just do your job, Ziggy, and tell us why Sam's here." He studied the   
device for a minute and then looked regretfully at Sam. "Ziggy doesn't   
know. Nothing of any significance was ever recorded in this alley."  
  
He vanished.  
  
Sam sprang to his feet and dashed to the spot where Al had been standing.   
He whined anxiously. He didn't like being alone. He had an almost   
overwhelming urge to leave the alley and go in search of companionship.  
  
Al reappeared as quickly as he had vanished. "No luck," he said. "Ziggy   
hasn't been able to find out why you're here yet. There is a dog in the   
chamber and it looks a little . . . confused, if you get my drift." He   
looked down at Sam, noting his rigid posture. "What are you looking at?"   
he asked curiously. Following the direction of Sam's gaze, he saw a   
brown-haired man striding towards them. He was a young man, in his early   
twenties, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. As he came closer, it became   
apparent that he was distressed about something. He was walking along   
with his head down, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. His hands,   
hanging stiffly at his sides, were clenched into fists, and his face was   
twisted as if he were suffering from some kind of mental anguish. "He   
looks like someone who could use a friend," said Al.  
  
"Hey . . . are you okay?" Sam asked the man. For a minute it looked   
like the man was going to walk right past him. He didn't appear to have   
seen Sam or heard him bark at all. "Could you use some help?" asked Sam.  
  
The man slowed his pace and his gaze slid around to rest on Sam. Sam   
looked up into his face hopefully, gently wagging his tail. "Hello,   
buddy," the stranger said. He bent over and patted Sam on the head.   
"What are you doing here?" Sam whined sympathetically. "Did someone   
dump *you*, too?" The man's voice broke and suddenly he was on his   
knees beside Sam, putting his arms around him and hugging him hard.   
Unable to resist, Sam began licking his face.  
  
"*That's* something I never thought I'd see you do," Al commented.  
  
"It feels natural," said Sam. "I must have a lot of that dog in me."  
The stranger had stopped hugging Sam, but he was patting him and burying   
his hands in the fur around Sam's neck. His first grief had subsided,   
and calmer now, he pushed himself away, drawing a shuddering breath.   
"Good boy," he said vaguely, scrubbing the back of his hand across his   
eyes.   
  
He rose to his feet and took a few uneven steps, seating himself heavily   
on an old tire lying on the ground. He propped his elbows on his thighs   
and buried his face in his hands. Sam trotted over and nudged his arm.   
"Good boy," said the man again, taking his face out of his hands and   
putting an arm around Sam. "Has your day been as rotten as mine?" he   
asked the dog.  
  
"You'd be surprised," said Al. "You don't know who you're talking to."  
  
The man straightened, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand again.   
He shifted his weight so he could pull his wallet out of a back pocket.   
Drawing out a photo, he held it in front of him and looked at it   
mournfully.  
  
"Jenni and Blair," said Al, tilting his head and reading the writing on   
the back of the picture. "Hey, Sam, do you see this girl? What a   
looker! If she's the one who's dumped him, no wonder Blair is acting   
like he's down to his last dollar."   
  
"There she is," Blair was saying. "And that's the last I'll ever see of   
her," he added bitterly. In a sudden gesture, he crumpled the picture   
and threw it from him. It bounced against the hard ground and then lay   
still. Sam went over to it and touched it with his nose, then picked it   
up in his mouth and brought it back to Blair. He dropped it hesitantly into   
Blair's lap, not certain that he was doing the right thing. If the girl   
really had broken up with Blair irrevocably, then Sam wasn't doing any   
service by giving him a painful reminder.  
  
For a minute Blair didn't move, and then he picked up the picture and   
opened it up, smoothing it gently with his fingers. "Oh, Jenni-" he   
choked.  
  
"Why don't you tell us what happened?" urged Sam. "It might make you   
feel better."  
  
"We were going to get married," said Blair, almost as if he had   
understood Sam's suggestion. "Then, last month, I lost my job. I got   
another one, but I'm not making nearly as much money. So Jenni quit her   
job at Brion Industries and took one with Jiand. Jiand!" He groaned.   
"I told her that we had enough money to get by on our two salaries . . .   
that she didn't need to go to work for those crooks! Old Adam Hill would   
be in jail right now if they could link him to Cameron's murder. They've   
never found the body, though, so he'll probably get away with it. And   
Jenni's going to work for that . . . that *murderer*-! If she does his   
bookkeeping, she'll get mixed up in his crooked businesses and be trapped   
there forever. If she ever tries to get out, he'll kill her, like he   
killed Cameron-" He couldn't go on. He crumpled the picture again, the   
muscles in his forearm tightening.  
  
"I told her . . . if she went to work for him, I didn't want to marry   
her. I thought that she loved me enough to give up the job. But she   
didn't . . . I guess I don't mean anything to her at all," Blair said   
bitterly. "She said that there's no proof that Adam Hill is a gangster   
and that I have no right to tell her where to work. She said that if   
I really loved her then I would want her to be happy. Then she said   
that if I didn't want to marry her then she didn't want to marry me,   
either, and she gave me back the ring." He took a small diamond ring   
out of his pocket and closing his fingers over it, crushed it to his   
palm.  
  
"Lover's quarrel," said Al.  
  
"Yes, she was angry," said Sam. "She'll get over it, Blair. When   
people are upset sometimes they say things they don't mean."  
  
Pocketing the ring, Blair opened up the crumpled picture and smoothed it   
with his fingers again. "I wish she'd listen to me," he said wistfully.   
"She was always so stubborn . . . ." He sighed.  
  
"Go back to her and tell her you're sorry," Sam advised.   
  
"And tell her that she can work wherever she wants," added Al. "She   
probably didn't like getting an ultimatum. Some women are like that.   
She sounds like a girl I met in Tahiti . . . ." He launched into a   
recital of his relationship with a fiery-tempered young woman he had   
once met.  
  
"Wait . . . ." said Sam, who was only half-listening. He had been   
thinking over Blair's story and trying to relate it to his own presence   
in this particular alley on this particular day. "Al . . . Blair . . . !"   
he said excitedly. "I think I know why I'm here!" He raced over to the  
bare patch of ground where he had written his name earlier and began   
digging frantically.  
  
"What are you doing, Sam?" asked Al, breaking off his narrative and   
strolling over to observe Sam's excavation activities.  
  
"There's a body in here, Al," said Sam, pawing energetically at the   
ground. Dirt flew out of the hole, passing directly through the image   
of Al's hologram. "You heard what Blair said about Cameron's body being   
missing. If this is why I'm here . . . to find Cameron's body . . . ."   
He applied himself vigorously to his task.  
  
"What are you doing, Sam?" repeated Al.  
  
Sam paused to look over at Blair. The young man was still sitting on the   
tire, staring forlornly into the distance. Quickly Sam went to an as-yet   
undisturbed portion of ground and sketched out the letters, B O D Y.  
  
"Body," said Al, screwing up his eyes as he cocked his head to one side.   
"You mean there's been a body buried there all this time? Why didn't you   
do something about it before?"  
  
"Give me a break, Al," said Sam, smoothing over his writing and returning   
to his task of uncovering the body. "I've been a dog for less than an   
hour and I haven't learned everything there is to know yet. I knew that   
there was something buried here, but I didn't know that it was a human   
body. Now that I've smelled what a man smells like, I can identify the   
body buried here as a human male. This must be why I was sent here."  
  
"This must be why you were sent here," said Al. He squinted at the ground.   
"Are you sure about the body? That hole's pretty deep and I don't see   
anything yet."  
  
"The body is under this sidewalk," Sam explained. "You can see that the   
concrete is fresh. I have to dig down deep enough into the dirt to be   
able to get below the concrete, where the body is. See how thick the  
concrete is? A lot thicker than it has to be - for a sidewalk."  
  
"I don't see any body, Sam," repeated Al. "Are you sure there's one   
there?"  
  
"Al . . . I know what I'm doing, okay?" He stopped and gave Al an   
exasperated look that Al had no difficulty in interpreting.  
  
"Okay, Sam, I guess I know what you're doing," Al conceded reluctantly.   
"Hey, that concrete looks fresh . . . and look how thick it is - is the   
body buried underneath the sidewalk?"  
  
Rendered curious by Sam's barking and frantic digging activity, Blair   
stood up and walked over to them. "Whatsa matter, pal?" he asked,   
momentarily forgetting his woes. He walked through Al's image and   
peered at the hole that Sam was working on so diligently.   
  
Sam sighed. Do I have to explain it again? "There's a body under the   
sidewalk," he said. I'm digging next to the concrete and then I'm going   
to go under it and - oooh, here it is!" He began scrabbling at the dirt   
with his paws, tearing it out in big chunks. In contrast to the   
packed-down earth next to the sidewalk, the earth underneath the concrete   
was softer, as if it had been disturbed recently.  
  
"Blair's leaving, Sam," warned Al.  
  
Sam glanced up to see that Blair had indeed begun to wander disconsolately   
away. "Wait! Don't go yet!" he called. "Come over here . . . I found   
something that might be able to help you!"   
  
As he walked away, Blair bent to pick up the picture. He looked at it one   
last time, then crumpled it again with finality, tossing it into one of   
the garbage cans. Squaring his shoulders, he began striding away, the pain   
on his face belying the bravado in his posture.  
  
"There's not going to be anything left of that picture if you keep   
crumpling it like that," observed Al.  
  
"Wait!" yelped Sam. "Wait! Wait! Wait!" He raced over to Blair and   
began doing his Lassie routine. Again, it worked.  
  
"Whatcha got, pal?" asked Blair. He indulgently followed Sam back to   
the excavation area. He crouched beside the sidewalk and gazed at the   
large hole. "What's under there? Did you find a bone . . .?" his voice   
broke off when he saw the arm that was encased in the sleeve of a dark   
blue business suit. He reached out a hand and touched the sleeve, giving   
it a yank. It didn't budge. "My-! He gulped. Then he noticed the ring   
on the hand, a man's signet ring. "Cameron-" he whispered. He rose to   
his feet and stumbled backwards a few steps, his face noticeably paler.   
"Police," he said, his voice hoarse.  
  
***************************************  
  
"You did it, Sam," said Al, watching with satisfaction all the activity   
going on at the site where the body was buried. Several police cars and   
emergency vehicles were parked in the alley, their lights flashing, and   
the area was a web of activity, a small crowd having gathered to watch   
the police work.  
  
A slender young woman with red-gold hair approached the scene, walking   
slowly. "What is it?" she asked one of the onlookers. "I heard they   
found Cameron's body."  
  
"It hasn't been officially identified yet," a middle-aged man replied.   
"But my nephew works on the police force and he saw the body. It's   
Cameron all right."  
  
"How did he-?"  
  
"Bullet wound to the head," said her informer. "Shot execution style.   
They say that the police are going to be arresting Adam Hill any minute   
now."  
  
The girl bit her lip and turned her head away from Blair, who had just   
spotted her and taken a few hesitant steps towards her. Noting her   
unencouraging posture, Blair stopped dead in his tracks and dropped his   
hands helplessly to his sides.  
  
"Go on, go to her," urged Sam. "Tell her you're sorry. Tell her that   
she has the right to work anywhere she wants, but that you were worried   
about her working for a man who has the reputation of being a murderer   
and that's why you got so upset."  
  
"Beg for her forgiveness," said Al.  
  
"Tell her that you didn't mean it when you said that you didn't want to   
marry her."  
  
"Grovel."   
  
"Tell her how much you love her."  
  
"Tell her that she means more to you than anything else in the world.   
Women like that kind of thing."  
  
"Tell her how unhappy you've been since you've been apart."  
  
"Tell her you've been miserable since you've been apart."  
  
"Jenni . . . ?" said Blair hesitantly.  
  
Jenni turned her face away, but she didn't leave.  
  
"Take her in your arms," said Sam.  
  
"Kiss her," said Al. "That's what she wants."  
  
Blair began approaching slowly. Jenni didn't look at him, but she didn't   
walk away, either. "Jenni," said Blair again. He touched her arm   
tentatively. Emboldened by the fact that she didn't pull away, he put   
his hands gently on her shoulders and drew her closer. She kept her   
gaze on the ground and her arms hanging stiffly at her sides as Blair   
pulled her unresistingly into his embrace. "Honey . . . ." said Blair,   
his voice breaking.   
  
She made a sound like a gasp and suddenly flung her arms around his neck.   
Blair wrapped his arms around her and strained her to his chest. "I'm   
sorry," they both said at the same time, and then they didn't say anything   
at all for a very long time.  
  
Sam and Al stood to one side, watching the affecting scene with   
satisfaction. Al was smiling and Sam had opened his mouth to let his   
tongue loll out.  
  
"Sam?" said Al suddenly. "Is that still you?" Sam looked up at him and   
nodded. "I wonder why you haven't leaped yet?" He stopped speaking and   
watched as Jenni and Blair at last concluded their embrace.  
  
Jenni approached them. "And this is the dog . . . ?" she asked. "He's   
so *cute*!" She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him,   
giving him a big hug.  
  
"You have all the luck!" Al told Sam. "In the next life, I'm coming back   
as a dog," he added as Jenni drew Sam into her lap and continued to stroke   
his fur.  
  
"He's so thin," observed Jenni. "And no collar. I wonder who he belongs   
to."  
  
Blair shrugged, watching Jenni's attentions to the dog with wistful   
affection. When Jenni rose to her feet Blair put his arms around her and   
pulled her close, looking as if he wouldn't mind if Jenni bestowed some   
of those caresses on himself. Which she did immediately, raising her lips   
to his face and giving him a long, warm kiss. "My car's over here," said   
Jenni. Blair put an arm around her shoulders and they walked off together,   
completely absorbed in each other. Sam and Al tagged along, not sure if   
their role had been concluded. Jenni slid into the driver's seat while   
Blair walked around to the passenger's side. Blair swung open the door   
as Jenni started the engine. He started to get into the car, and then he   
hesitated, looking over at Sam.  
  
Jenni, too, was looking at Sam. She glanced up at Blair. "Let's take   
him with us," they said at the same time. Blair walked back over to   
the driver's side to open the rear passenger door. He whistled and Sam   
bounded to the car, jumping into the back seat. He seated himself by   
the window, looking at Al, who was grinning and waving. Sam grinned   
back as best a dog could and then curled up in the back seat. The   
engine's roar was soothing and curiously soporific.  
  
His surroundings began to dim and fade except for the roaring sound,   
which grew louder, swelling and changing until it became identifiable   
as the shout of many voices. Sam wasn't lying in the car anymore; he   
was straddling a chair which suddenly began to move underneath him.   
Earthquake!   
  
No, not an earthquake. And it wasn't a chair - it was a horse.  
  
Sam clutched the reins that he suddenly found wound through his   
fingers, fighting for his balance as the animal moved quickly into a   
bone-jarring trot. The crowd grew quiet. Sam looked up and realized   
that he was in some kind of stadium. The horse broke into a canter and   
began circling the arena. Sam tried to settle his weight more firmly   
into the saddle but the stirrups were too short - *way* too short.   
*Nobody* rode with stirrups that short unless they were . . . jumping.  
  
Sam scanned the arena. Yep. He was at some kind of show-jumping   
competition. The problem was, there was only one jump in the arena.   
Sam swallowed. He didn't have to jump a horse over *that*, did he?  
  
The horse took a wide turn and headed directly for the jump, picking   
up speed. Sam looked at the massive seven-foot wall and gulped. As   
the horse approached, it shortened stride. Sam felt the horse's powerful   
hindquarters give a mighty thrust and then Sam and the horse were airborne,   
soaring towards the wall. Too short - they weren't going to make it!  
  
"Oh, boy."  
  
The End 


End file.
